


A Lonely Company

by Norselock (Sevent)



Category: Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Doom As Hades, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Guess Which God's Who, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Names Translated Into Greek (Approximate), Reed As Persephone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4128270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevent/pseuds/Norselock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"There are dark things hidden even under the most beautiful of flowers."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>A story of Persephone's birth, of how a young maiden-boy became the beloved consort of Hades, god of the Underworld.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Down By The Rivers

Down in the slopes of Mount Olympus stretched a valley full of May lilies. It was cared for diligently by Demeter, who went by each and every bloom and watered every leaf to perfection.

May lilies weren't her favorite bloom. They were too small, white like sheep's wool and not all that attractive. She preferred to grow wheat fields lower down in the rivers where she could frolic freely with her little boy, but it was of great importance that she make a barrier for mortals who wandered too far, too deep into the mountain. For she knew that May lilies were very poisonous, and she knew the mortals knew, and so they were wary of them.

Her dearest boy would be safe, and so would the rest of her family, though they may lose their minds if they stay together for too long in this godforsaken mountain, with Hera raining fire on Zeus' horseplay and his pranking offspring rummaging around, causing havoc for god and mortal alike. 

Demeter was very glad her boy was hardly exposed to his father. Zeus wasn't terribly good at anything other than siring children and mooning at Hera. 

As it is, her valley stood proud and alive, and now that her work was finished, she could spend the rest of her day down in the rivers with the girls. 

Before she took a single step back to the slopes, however, a short giggle drifted in the wind from the flowers, crisp like autumn leaves falling. 

"Kore," she scolded the little visitor in her blooms.

More rusting came with the next laugh, and a little brown head peaked out from the bushes, May lilies tangled in his hair.

Demeter did not join in on the laughter, though her lips twitched up in a smile, radiant like the sun whose color reflected beautifully in her golden hair. Instead she crossed her arms and straightened her back while saying, "Get out from there, dear. The flowers won't hurt you but it is still not safe."

"But mom," the small child stood fully from his spot now, barely reaching up to her waist. He had smudges of dirt on his cheeks and hands, and had eyes as dark as the ground they stood on. 

"'But' nothing, and look at you! Covered in grass and soil." As was her due, Demeter bent down to the ground and brought her hands forward for her child to come. Little Kore did, of course, and laughed again when his mother stood. "Now we  _have_ to go to the rivers and get you cleaned up." And this time she laughed along with her child's joy, walking down the path to the rivers of the valley.

Going to the rivers was, in Kore's young mind, the best place to be in all of Olympus. It was never too deep, full of green things, and the nymphs always sang to the rhythm of the current. Tossing pebbles into the water could keep him entertained for hours, not because of the curious sounds the little rocks made went they sank, but because of how far the waves they created in the splash would go. Out to the bank and back, in zigzags, round and round, wider, and finally, gone. All was calm again in the waters, until another pebble dropped.

He would laugh and laugh when his mother came and splashed him out of his fun. 

____________________________________

 

Farther down in the slopes of Mount Olympus, there was a town. It had vast farmlands and few buildings, and no one was in want of anything. Harvest season was coming, and all the families were working hard to make it as plentiful as the last year. They prayed to the goddess Demeter for good crops and to Zeus for rain, although rain was aplenty so close to the mountain. They were a thankful town.

Kore loved that little town, though the people may not know how often they have gods walk into their borders as wandering strangers. One such stranger being himself.

It was long after he passed his mother's shoulders that he allowed himself to be seen by the young folk of the town. Long past the whole of a human's life, though he remained the same. Young, full of joy, full of energy. Gods were ageless that way.

Ageless he may be, the daring children of every few generations would always play with him. They took to calling him Reed, for they would always find him at the banks of their thin river among the grass stalks, his favorite hiding spot. He liked the simplicity of the name, and stuck with it.

This year, he was splashing at the water by himself, standing by his namesake stalks. All the children would be with their families today, celebrating the coming harvest. Mother would be blessing the land, and soon after they'd go back home to their valley.

He was not the only god walking along the river. 

A crack of a stone on the other side of the bank stopped the young god's idle kicking, and with sharp eyes he looked over the foliage.

There was a man there, shrouded by the shade of the trees, wearing dark robes that shimmered where sunlight landed. The shade seemed to wrap around him, like a cloak, almost invisible to his eyes. 

"Hello," Kore greeted, and bowed his head in a respectful dip, because his mother taught him manners and first impressions did count.

He received a lesser bow reserved for servants and the fleeting pass of eyes over his person before the shrouded man returned to the unnatural cover of the shadows. 

Kore frowned, a little perplexed with the fellow Olympian — and he must be a god like himself, for the shade welcomed him like the flower beds always have done for Kore —, so he stepped out of the water and dried his bare feet on the grass. 

"What brings you so close to the village?" the spring youth asked in hopes of speaking to another Olympian. Nymphs and mortals were the only company he knew well, since he hardly ever went up to the summit to meet the other gods. Perhaps he should visit more often, he doesn't recognize this one.

"I come for the sights, nothing more," the god answered, never leaving the shade of the tree.

"Oh! You've come to see the fruits in their prime? They look beautiful this year."

The shadows seemed to shrug around him, but the odd fellow only parroted with his dulled voice, "The fruits?" And smiled something wicked. "No, I come not for those." 

Confusion bloomed in Kore, for he did not know what other reason there would be to come to a harvest-eve. But more confusion still he felt over the nameless Olympian. So he started again, more formally, as his mother made him do in younger years with his uncles and aunts.

"I digress, I don't recall your name, nor your face, in past acquaintances. Which must mean that we've never met before. I am called Kore, son of Demeter."

The shrouded Olympian looked to him fully now, and nodded a more respectful bow. "Plouton, the mortals call me. For they fear my real name."

"Plouton," Kore repeated to himself. He knew that name. He's heard it whispered by the townsmen. "Plouton, the wealthy?"

Plouton stepped closer to the shore, away from the shade, and his robes shimmered from black to gold-white, like a pool of water rippling under the moon in a cloudless night. Such a thing must have taken Hephaestus years to finish, joining silk to what must be the most brilliant obsidian Gaea ever made.

"In a manner of speaking, I have endless riches, yes." 

Kore did not hide the wonder from his face, nor did he keep silent. 

"Your shroud is so beautiful, pray tell who made such a wondrous cloth?"

Plouton inclined his head upwards, rising with pride and saying, "I myself, and no other, is responsible for my gifts."

"By the hammer that strikes in all forges, your skill with metal and weaving is astounding!" Kore wished he could cross the river to see the cloth closer, the detail of the stitch, but this part of the river was in a deeper bank and he could not, not without first swimming across, which rather defeated the purpose of staying dry. 

The compliments Kore gave went greatly appreciated, for no one dared look close enough at Plouton to see how his robes glowed in the light when he stood under the Sun, and it was less so witnessed where he hailed from. His brothers and sisters, too, were less inclined to compliment him, on account of his ever-missing presence in Olympus. 

Demeter had a kind child, he thought, away from the poison that Zeus and Hera brought into the family with their constant warring.

Light and far a voice called, "Kore! Kore, dear!"

And Kore turned to the tall grass where he could hear his mother calling. "I'm here, mother! Here with—"

But when next Kore spun back to face his wayward company, he was gone from the light and the shade, and all that was left were the footprints on the bank.

Demeter came out of the grass stalks and gave her son a kiss on the cheek in greeting, skin kissed by the sun and joyous over her work in the crops. But seeing her boy's distracted gaze, she asked with concern, "What is it?"

"Oh, I just...I saw someone on the other side of the river, is all. I did not say good-bye."

Demeter, with a smile that gave life to the grass below, eased his troubled thoughts.

"Worry not on good-byes, dear, for you'll surely meet again someday. But the day grows dark and home awaits, so let us part with them for now."

And while they climbed up the hills into the slopes of the mountain, Kore wondered, what had Plouton come to see?


	2. The Abduction

As time always did for the gods of Olympus, it went by without a notice. The fruits of harvest came and went, rivers widened with the seasonal rage, and every now and then some demigod was born and another war was won.

Kore found the passing of time too monotonous for his liking, though his mother still stood vigil by his side as she would in his youth, ready for any disaster. She gave him few liberties, as wary mothers did, and so he would sneak away some days for fun, as children often did. 

Some days, Kore would go to the summit of the mountain and greet whoever was there, but never did he find the stranger Plouton from the river. 

Part of that was his own fault, for he never asked for him, never called his name. The young spring god would find him on his own. He was capable of that much after all, Kore wasn't a child any longer.

Years still went by, and priorities changed. There wasn't any time to look for mysterious, shrouded strangers now that Kore was responsible for the whole valley where the May-lilies bloomed, after a long, tiresome week of convincing his mother he could do it just fine.

And he did. In half the time! Demeter would go by each flower with a pot full of riverwater, but Kore had not the patience for so much walking. Instead, he plowed a circle in the middle of the valley and drew lines outstretching from there to the edges of the blooms. All he had to do was water the circle, and the water would follow the dug lines, as they were wont to do. The flowers, in the end, only needed a little love — which he gave generously — and they would bristle in joy all through the day.

Kore was proud of his flowers. Demeter, too, was proud of them.

"Well now," she said on the first day of his new responsibility, "I thought you had gone and ruined the ground with all your digging, but now I see how bright your plan was!" 

Kore blushed under the praise, and asked in his best indifferent tone, "And now what time do you think it is?"

Demeter smiled. "Three hours before the nymphs go to the river." 

Kore looked around at the watered valley and met Demeter's eyes with a gleam. "I suppose that means we have time to buy them each a flute from the town?"

Travelling to the town was the most convenient part of living under Olympus. The nymphs couldn't go, not because they didn't want to, but because they were limited to the water. So Demeter, as a good friend to the girls, would get them trinkets as a surprise. If it made sounds, even better.

On good days, like today, mother and son would go together to the town, posing as a couple. They looked too close in age now to pass for anything else, and, by unlucky chance, Kore took after his father in terms of appearance. 

As it was, walking among humans involved hiding their identity, a simple feat with false names and certain mannerisms. Demeter took the name Sousanna, for her love of true lilies, though Kore usually introduced her plainly as "Sousan". 

"And I suppose I am to call you "Reed", like the children of the women here do?" 

Kore frowned. "Well,  _I_ like the moniker."

A couple of hours later, they had their presents in baskets as they strolled on to the nymphs' playing grounds, when Kore remembered something that greyed his pleasant morning.

"Dem, can you go ahead to the river? I need to go back to the valley."

Demeter, sharp as ever, caught on quick and took the basket from Kore's hands. "You forgot the watering pots and left them out in the sun, didn't you?"

Kore did not need to agree, he only left a little sheepishly, uphill, hoping the pots hadn't cracked. It was almost noon and the sun would beat hot on the paint.

But his worries would be unnecessary, for the red paint on the pots did not suffer under the light of the Sun. They were warm to the touch, but not too warm. He quickly picked them up to bring down to the river, where his mother kept them safe under the canopy of trees. 

On his way downhill, though, he stumbled upon a doe, a fawn really, looking lost and more than a little frightened. 

"Oh, little one," he called and spooked the poor thing more, but the fawn did not move from the spot, only looked at Kore with wide eyes. Kore placed the pots on the ground as careful and as slow as he could, so as to raise his hands free of anything, harmless.

The young deer kept her stance, ready to sprint if she must, but she stayed still, if a little shaky. A brave little soul.

"I won't harm you," Kore said in a low voice, stepping forward only once. The fawn did not move. He stepped forward again.

Only when Kore was close enough to touch did he speak again, reassuringly. "You're lost, aren't you? Looking for your parents?"

Kore couldn't speak to animals, or more appropriately, he couldn't understand their speech. That right belonged solely to Artemis. They would heed her call and follow her steps, but Kore was no God of the Hunt. The deer seemed to understand him enough, and did not seem afraid any longer. She even pressed her snout to his belly in friendly hello.

Taking the pots again, Kore told the young fawn they would go down to the river and see if her parents were there, and if they weren't, they'll wait there together, for they must surely be worried for her and moving around wasn't a good idea. The fawn sniffed, which perhaps was in agreement, and so they walked together downhill. 

But it seemed they would not need to wait all that much, for as soon as they heard water running, a soft bellow was heard farther downstream, and the fawn took off running. 

Kore wasn't one to leave his young charge alone to get lost again, so after putting the pots in their rightful place, went in the direction of the fawn's sprint.

"Little one!" he called, moving around thick bushes and careful of stones. "Little one!"

He found the fawn with another deer just around the corner of a wide tree, circling them excitedly, and sighed. Had he always been as energetic in his youth? 

He was about to call the fawn again, scold her for running off without warning, but then his eyes landed on another figure just behind the deer, sitting on a tall rock.

"Oh, um. Hello."

Plouton sat comfortably in the shade of the forest, hand resting on another deer's neck, possibly the other's mate. "Kore, son of Demeter, yes?" Kore nodded, offered a friendly bow and smiled. Plouton, again, only offered a simple bow of his head. "Good evening."

"Good evening." 

They remained as they were, Kore too bewildered to move forward, but also happy to see the deer family reunited, those which were similarly unbothered by Plouton's grooming. Did Plouton frequent the forest? But if he did, strange it would be for Kore to never see or hear from him. This was his home after all, and if he did not notice, Demeter would.

Something about the shadows felt different this time. They didn't fit around Plouton like they had previously. Kore brightened once he noticed this. Of course!

"You're not wearing your shroud today?" he asked expectantly, and Plouton looked up at Kore, and if Kore had sense to judge, he'd say the other looked surprised.

Plouton frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, the shade isn't wrapping around you, or, I think that is what the shade did the last time. And though your robes do shimmer where the light lands, I do not believe it is responsible for the odd way the shade moved. You had another shroud over you? One you do not have now?" 

The seated Olympian stared at Kore for a good while, who was beginning to think he had said something wrong. But before he could apologize for his assumption, Plouton stood from the rock with such force that he spooked the deer away. They moved in such a flurry that Kore instinctively stepped back from their path, for in a fit, deer could trample harshly. And when he turned back to Plouton, he had vanished.

"Plouton?"

Kore turned around, seeing through the trees and bushes, but found no trace of Plouton. Perhaps he was wrong after all, and the shroud he thought of before was not really a shroud, but the shadows themselves that obeyed the Olympian. 

Maybe he upset the man with talk of shadows. Maybe Kore had been right and he had said too much. Having something that hid one from view as totally as whatever Plouton had would be highly coveted. And maybe Plouton did not want others to know of it.

Whatever the case might be, once again Kore was left alone in the cover of trees with more questions than answers and a strange sense of dread. Like he'd dug something up and couldn't put it back where it came from.

Surely it was his imagination. 

____________________________________

 

The week went by as time never failed to do, and the nymphs enjoyed their new flutes to the fullest, singing gaily to the rhythm of one of their sister's tunes. The incident was still heavy on Kore's mind, but he thought not too much on it, and told no one of it. There was no need to worry Demeter further, and if something awful was to happen, it should have happened by now.

But since nothing passed by Demeter's good senses, she asked him if something was the matter. Harvest season finished two days prior, but Kore had not been excited for the celebrations, which was a sign that something was bothering her young boy. He said all was fine, the grooming of the land only drained him, and a good night's sleep was what he needed.

And now, after a good night's rest, he sat by the river listening to the nymphs play about. Mother had left to plant some fruits for next year's harvest, so Kore was free to mope out in the open.

His troubled mood was noticed by one of the nymphs, and despite her sisters' wonderful playing, she did not think it wise to leave it be and so she swam to his spot by the riverbank.

"Whatever is the matter, dearest Kore?" she asked with a most worried voice. The other sister's noticed her absence and stopped their singing to listen.

Kore only shrugged. "Oh, I'm just in a sour mood, Perse, don't worry about me."

Perse was a good, old friend of his mother, which meant she was used to dismissal and persisted beyond what Demeter could resist. She asked again what was bothering him, but Kore did not heed. 

"Do you want to go pick some flowers?" she tried instead, because if there was any one way to cheer Kore up, it was to make him a crown of flowers and sing the old Hymns of Spring.

Kore knew what Perse was thinking and smiled at the idea she most assuredly had. "All right, Perse, what flowers do you have in mind?"

"What about the ones in the open plains farther east? I heard there are some beautiful flowers there this season. Bring whichever you like and we'll make something out of those."

He agreed, the plains there had wonderful blooms, though it was a bit too far from the rivers and the nymphs couldn't follow. Kore promised to bring enough flowers for everyone, and headed off to the plains, Perse and two other nymphs swimming closely for as far as they could to help carry the blooms on the way back.

After a few minutes, they reached the farthest point they could follow, a bank close enough to the plains that they could see him and yell which blooms looked the prettiest.

"Take some of the yellow ones!" one of the nymphs called, "With the long stems!"

Kore went and picked here and there, some yellow and red poppies on one hand and a bouquet full of daffodils on the other. He thought to pick some lilies for Demeter, but sadly didn't see any.

He did find, however, some narcissus blooms, which looked simply extraordinary, perfect for a crown. 

As he tried to pick one, though, he found that the plant was well rooted. Try as he might, it did not come lose, so Kore decided to put the other flowers down. With both hands on the stem, Kore pulled, and pulled, but the plant would not break with the ground. By the Gods, it was strong!

But he would not give up on this one. One would be enough to bring back, for the others might be just as well rooted. He'd tell the girls that it was all he could pick, and such a shame, they all looked beautiful. 

So he heaved one last time, putting all the force he could muster on it, and finally, he forced the flower free, causing himself to topple back onto the grass.

Kore laughed over his price, but some of the nymphs cried out seeing him fall. "It's all right! A tough root is all!"

He stood to show the girls the flower, but tumbled down again on some dirt. Kore huffed, it was out of place, and he had not dug up the ground with his pulling, had he? But no, the ground was moving by itself, growing higher, or rather, deeper, he was sinking!

"Perse!" Kore tried standing again, but the ground below him was cracking, splitting apart hard and fast, and so he tumbled down again. _"Perse!"_

"Kore! Kore, what is it?" He heard her calls from the river, but she could not come. The water was her only harbor, and stepping out of it would be her death. She called for him again and again, but the ground kept sinking around him, and no amount of pushing and crawling got him anywhere. He only sunk deeper into the earth. "Kore!"

"Perse, I'm sinking!" Kore cried in panic. The grass looked so far up now, and the nymphs cries sounded farther away with each second. There was no chance he could crawl out of this hole. His demise would come. What a horrible way to die, he thought, eaten by the earth!

Kore scratched at the dirt in front of him, trying to get friction, to slow his descent, all fruitlessly. Through the crack, an opening came, and the frightened youth screamed as he fell openly now, faster than ever. 

Fearing the landing, he covered his head and at last met the ground, but it did not meet him with pain, as he had expected. Instead a bed of flowers caught him. Rolling to his back in panic from the fall, Kore saw they were narcissus, the same as the one he picked moments ago. 

Terrified still of being swallowed by the ground, Kore searched his surroundings. He did not see much, past the white petals that served as a pillow. It was too dark.

A light came suddenly, and Kore shielded his eyes, blinded by the strength of it. 

When next he looked, the godling was struck with utter shock.

There, before him, stood Plouton, with a lantern in his right hand and a scepter in his left. "Welcome," he greeted with the echo of the cavern, and stretched his arms out as if in display. More fires lit behind him, illuminating the vastness of the cavern, the many corridors that stemmed from within the walls, the enormity of the dome — and it was a dome where Kore landed in —, so enormous he could not even see the ceiling where he fell from. 

Plouton lowered the lantern to the floor, and offered his free hand to Kore. 

"Welcome to Hades."


	3. The Hades

"Demeter! Demeter, something has gone terribly wrong!"

The nymphs by the riverbank stopped their singing, hearing their sister's frightened cries. It was Perse, swimming wildly to their spot, her pale face turned sickly white with fear.

"What is it?" one of them asked, nervous, for Demeter had yet to return. 

"It is Kore. Something horrible has happened!" Farther back, Perse's accompanying sisters drew near, both tearful and distraught with news yet given. But before more light could be shed on the matter, a voice came from within the tall grass, asking for one who was not there.

"Kore?" Demeter called, and appeared rushing from the stalks to the nymphs, worried beyond her wits for what little she heard.

"Perse, what—where's Kore?"

All of the sisters were frantic now. Kore had not returned, and Perse's withheld tears were beginning to sting. She could not contain them any longer.

"We do not know," she told, voice trembling as her shoulders did. "We only saw him fall and—and he did not rise again! He said he was sinking, and then we heard no more!" Her tears fell freely down her cheeks, for she had failed her good friend in the worst of ways. Her tears brought the others to do much the same, and soon the stifled sounds of crying could be heard from all the nymphs. Little Kore, who was little no more, their friend and youngest not-sister, gone!

"Kore is gone?" Demeter felt cold, like a wind snuffed her candle unawares. Her boy was gone. Her boy was gone! 

"Where?" she pleaded, "Where did it happen?"

"By the eastern plains," one sister, Nephele, said. "He was picking up white flowers. I-I didn't see which. None of us could."

Before any more could be said, Demeter ran from the river's edge straight to the plains, fear and distress flooding her senses. She will find her Kore. He will be there, waiting with a sprained ankle, maybe. It must be that, he couldn't have sunk into the ground like water!

The plains were in sight now, and Demeter searched. She searched and searched, but found no trace of her boy. No white flowers anywhere. No hole in the ground. He was gone! Where was Kore?!

"Kore!" she searched high, far from the banks where some sisters had gathered frantically. "Kore! Can you hear me? _Kore!"_

No answer came. No body was found.

"Where could he be? Oh, where in all of Gaea's Earth could he be?"

____________________________________

 

Under the mountain of Olympus, there was the Hades, home of the dead, where the Styx cut the land into a puzzle of a cavern. Only one being was known to travel freely to and fro, and that was Hades himself. He did not like the surface world much, despite the freedom he owned, freedom none other owned, and found no fancy in his siblings' quarrels. So the world underground was his only home, and one he loved dearly.

Down in his home there was a visitor, rare as they might be, for this visitor was not dead, not a soldier on a journey to self-discovery, and was becoming more and more disagreeable by the minute.

"The _Hades?"_ he kept saying, with a touch of wonder and fear, but never far from anger. "You stole me from the surface to...to what, exactly? Have a _tour?"_

Hades never answered, only continued on his walk to the main rooms of his grand palace, sure that the young god would follow. The Hades was a maze to all other than himself, and his visitor would not like to get lost so early in his stay. 

"I would like to know where we are going, at some point." Hades took a right turn and finally entered the Real Palace, as he liked to call it. All of it was his palace, after all, but here in these few rooms was where he truly lived.

Kore followed Plouton to wherever it was that he was walking to, despite being furious that he was suddenly thrust—or _dragged—_ into the underworld through a crack and having no immediate way of leaving. How does one go about leaving the Hades anyhow? 

He was dirty, white robes smudged with earth on all sides. Surprisingly, and quite thankfully, he had no scratches on his skin, though his back was somewhat sore with the softened fall and there was pollen clinging to his hair. He looked a right mess.

Wherever it was that they were going to, it had beautiful carved floors, fire-light leading their way. The feel of the space was akin to a cave, but the look of it was completely unnatural. Caves didn't have smooth-even pillars or perfectly concave ceilings. He also knew that the cave had to end somewhere, but this one seemed to lead on eternally. It was quite fascinating.

They stopped somewhere similar to a room, for it had walls and only one entryway. It was a wonderfully furbished, stone floor glinting in the firelight and wide enough to create a pleasant echo. There were chairs to sit on and a table to lean against, books to read, only one couch and no bed. A sitting room of sorts.

Plouton finally turned to him and addressed him fully. 

"This room will serve for your stay—"

"Stay?" Right there Kore interrupted, because although the place was unexpectedly charming, he wasn't about to enjoy confinement in a closed space. "I'm sorry, I never said anything about staying."

Plouton continued much unfazed, "This is a reading room. You'll find there's plenty to find by the table. If you wish for games, you will not find any here."

Kore wondered to himself if, perhaps, he'd gotten himself into this situation accidentally. Not the 'falling from a crack in the ground', because that was surely made on purpose. Rather, if he had said or done something that lead Plouton to make that crack in the first place. 

He could not find these answers by himself, so he asked, "Plouton, why am I here?"

Plouton, already standing by the entryway, ready to disappear into the shadows of the walls, only answered, "Why don't you try and figure it out." 

____________________________________

 

A whole day passed, or from what Kore could tell, being underground and all, and all he had to play with were books, and more books. He's never had the chance to read more than what was absolutely necessary, and although now he had plenty to go by, after the eighth book, things started to turn a bit dull. Greek plays in honor of Olympians can be very repetitive sometimes, especially when you already know the story and have heard it spoken from the god's own mouth. So he stacked the plays up into a tower in lieu of nothing better to do, and waited to see when his supposed host would return. 

As it turned out, Kore did not need to wait very long, for no sooner than the last book was placed, the crowning flag upon his tower, did he come through the entrance and stop in his tracks, quite confused with the sight before him. 

"What are you doing?"

Kore had seen him approach from his seat thanks to the shadows casted in the hall, but he had not prepared any explanation to give for his boredom. It needed none after all, Kore was a creature of sunlight and riverbeds, of growing life and never-ending green. He was not used to such silence and sealed walls surrounding him. He missed his mother and all his mother's work terribly.

"I was bored," he offered with matching posture, slouched over the table, one arm upright and carrying the weight of his head. Then he cracked a smile. "And walking out into the hallway will only get me hopelessly lost."

Plouton nodded sagely from his spot by the entryway, seemingly observant and thinking of possible solutions. The underworld was not made for entertainment, he was severely lacking in that department. Nothing came immediately to mind, but the Titan-born would think further on it later.

One thing he did not seem to consider was that, while he found the quiet of the cavernous spaces welcoming, Kore would instead find it unsettling. Plouton had much to learn, despite his age.

And despite Kore's own age and mannerisms, he was not one for mere idle reading and blank thoughts. He was quite sharp, though not as sharp as his mother, and very bright. He was also very bold, perhaps without meaning to be.

"You said the mortals called you Plouton in fear of speaking your true name." 

Plouton did not respond. There was no need for an answer, for it was easy to see who Plouton really was. From the moment Kore took his hand to stand up from his landing, he understood what "Plouton" truly meant. 

Wealthy indeed.

"I still don't understand why I'm here," he felt like adding, because he truly couldn't. There was no reason for an Olympian of green things to be down in the Hades. There was no soil where plants could grow reaching for the Sun. No Sun at all. And he had not died, for the Styx had never crossed his path, and he had no quarrel with the dead, nor any residents of the dead land.

Plouton did not reveal any further either. He only said, "Would it be too difficult to believe I wished to show you my home?" 

Kore did not laugh. _This isn't really 'showing around',_ Kore, too, did not say. He felt that would be too hostile. He was growing angry again. 

And as quick as his anger came, so did his fear. He was not a strong one. Escape would not come easy, not in the darkness beyond this room and not against Plouton, though far from striking distance the old god may be, standing by the doorless entrance. He was a mighty god, powerful, and Kore wasn't.

The younger god was a little fearful when he asked, "Does it have something to do with what I said?"

Plouton gave him a questioning glance.

"About your shroud," Kore elaborated.

"Not in the least."

A grim smile creeped up Kore's cheeks. "Why don't I believe that?" the spring god dared to say and quickly looked away. Trapped as he was in Hades, Hades himself wasn't awful company, only terribly secretive, obscure, and more than just frightening with his silent watchful stare. 

Despite that, his host did not seem a liar. Careful with words — enough to sound truthful, perhaps —, but not a liar. He was like the market folk in the town, who spoke in big words and distracted you with pretty talk. Persuasive in omission, a dangerous game to get into. 

Fair enough. Kore liked playing games, he could play this one too. All he would need to do is figure out the why's of his kidnapping and the how's of the cavern. All with words, and not actions. Actions might get him in bad trouble.

So, of course, the first step would be to use words to his advantage.

"If you're going to show me around," Kore started after the long pause of his thinking was done, "Would now not be a good chance? I'm quite bored at the moment, and what I know of the Hades is through tales."

As it was, no more was needed in order for Plouton to consider the walk. He did say he wanted to show Kore his home, and now he must follow through with it.

No grand tour was given of the many rooms and spaces Hades usually tread in. A little showcasing of the Real Palace, as Plouton referred to it, was all Kore was given. 'Home' can be such a relative term, and not much was seen outside of the few decorated rooms and well-lit passageways, nothing remotely close to the surface.

However, the rooms were not a disappointment, not in the least. They were all beautifully ornamented with urns of incredible designs, obsidian floors that shined spectacularly against the torches, sleek carvings on columns over wider spaces. There was no plant, no flower or fruit to be seen, instead depictions of them on stones and urns were present in many places. Kore found himself looking longer over the details, positively entranced. Such thin brushes must have made those petals! Such steady hands must have carved those columns! 

"This is all quite remarkable," he breathed in the main hall, for speaking too loud caused an echo to sound back. Many times did the ceiling seem so far, and the rooms not at all closed off. Kore wondered on the other spaces, on where the dead roamed peacefully and how those places must look like.

"I thank you," Plouton said genuinely, kindly even. "Not many would say so."

"I assume they would say it is more than overwhelming. There is so much to see, although not many to meet." Kore glanced upwards once more, tilting his head this way and that to take in the grandness of the hall. "Other than the dead."

Plouton—or Hades, however he might call himself, turned to Kore with a bright gaze and said most earnestly, "Then I ask you, more formally, if you would stay and be my guest. You can wander these halls freely, if you so wish to."

Oh, what a tempting proposal! And smartly done, Kore thought to himself, for now he has become a guest instead of a captive. He must be more careful with his words, lest he accidentally become a permanent resident! 

But...perhaps he could stay just a while longer. To gain answers to his questions, naturally. And how many can say they've had the opportunity to see the Hades while alive? To be its guest?

Who's to say it won't be a bit of an adventure?

And while Kore rambled quietly on merry opportunities, far above, the ground grew harder, stale, forgotten, for Demeter searched relentlessly all across Gaea's Earth for her child. No plant went watered, no valley overseen, and a cold wind blew from the north, chilling the air.

A field full of life began to wither.

 


	4. Demeter's Woe

Rest came slowly that night, with Kore mulling over his current predicament. There was no escape to be found, not yet, not from the Hades and its many dark passageways, or from its dreary ruler. All the young god could do was wait. For a chance, perhaps, for Hades to grow arrogant, foolish. It was infuriating. He had never been so helpless, and his patience was not an endless well!

In his turmoil, Kore slept uneasily. His brow was frowned, his hair very rumpled, and there was no blanket of pillow to be of good use. Waking brought a slight twinge to his neck, and renewed annoyance. Couches were made for sitting, not sleeping.

Hades was not being a very good host.

To his even greater annoyance, Kore realized that his robes were an unsightly mess. Though his fall from the crack had been two days prior, in all of yesterday's confusion and mixed excitement, he'd simply forgotten about the state of his clothes.

Now that his eyes have grown used to the darker halls, Kore can clearly see that his robes took a harsh beating.

There were no tears in the cloth, miraculously, but he smelled like dried muck and looked like it too. 

Just as Kore considered where to clean himself properly—and cursing thrice over under his breath for having no water anywhere in sight, Hades entered his room, in all his glistening glory.

"Hail, fair spring-bringer, I bear gifts for your taking."

In his arms, the Olympian brought many clothes, of what Kore could see, of dark wool dyed with sky-blue fringes. It seemed he was not the only one to notice his ruined state. 

His morning was still very unpleasant, back muscles cramped and not happy over the state of his robes. They were one of his favorite, made of the whitest wool by his nymph-friends' hands. 

"Thank you," Kore said from his makeshift bed, shifting slightly to relieve his back. "It all looks very lovely, but I would like to clean up my own self before trying them." 

The robes did look charming. It would be a shame to dirty them. 

Plouton gestured with his hand for Kore to follow. It seems that his wish will be granted.

The walk around the halls was short but refreshing. There was a wind blowing from the tunnel, warm and silent. Kore wondered if he dared to follow the breeze, would he find the Styx on the other side?

Once they passed another room, the tunnel widened, soon turning into a grand hall where a trickle of water could be heard echoing. There was a brass tub fixed into the ground, as big as ten men, polished to a golden shine. 

"This is my personal washroom," Plouton said. "There are no other washrooms in my Palace, so if you desire to clean yourself in the coming days, you may do so here."

"I thank you."

As the godling stripped of his dirtied robes, he marvelled at the craftsmanship of the great washing tub. Everything in the Palace so far appeared in excellent work, glittering, beautiful in an artificial way. Once he was fully naked, and somewhat conscious of Plouton standing a ways away in case of assistance, he stepped into the tub and, with confusion, wondered where the water would come from. He had seen the skin oils and the pail just outside of the tub, but nothing else.

Looking closer, he saw a small knob on the edge, so he twisted it in curiosity.

The knob, it seemed, opened a valve and lo! The water came rushing from an opening!

It was simply marvellous work, an interesting contraption. Once the water filled up to his requirements, Kore twisted the knob again, only in the opposite direction to close it, and bathed. 

As he busied himself clean, Hades handled new clothes and a drying sheet for Kore's use, all the while standing a modest distance away. He took the dirtied robes and brought them to a basin farther off in the hall. Not before admiring the soft woolen fabric. It was a simple gown, worn for windy days. A short wash with scent salts would do it well.

Kore was enjoying his bath. Rivers were his usual means of cleaning, as it was for many of the townsmen. It was strange to sit in unmoving water rubbing dirt off his body, but the warmth of it was very pleasant. Resting against the brass, too, was surprisingly comfortable.

Wary under Plouton's eye, however, he glanced every now and then at where his host worked with flowing water over his robe, and felt grateful for the consideration.

Plouton only looked back very few times, quickly looking away again when Kore had been watching him in return.

It was quite odd.

Kore, deeming his body refreshed and dirt-free, stepped carefully out of the bath and dried himself, considering the tub once more. There was no hole to drain the water, from what he could find, so perhaps another knob of sorts would be needed?

He was startled by the whisper of fabric against his legs. Plouton had returned, having hanged Kore's clothes by the tunnel where the wind came from, and he stood quite close.

"You drain the water here," he said, and pushed the knob down into the floor with his foot, opening a drain at the bottom of the brass tub. Releasing it freed the knob again, rising with a spring back to its place.

"How ingenious," Kore uttered with awe, and blushed prettily when he saw that Plouton had yet to move from his side. And here he stood with only a sheet covering himself. He was rather embarrassed and flustered, not blind to Hades' own attractive features. He was a Titan-born, cut as if from marble with an air of greatness and age.

The closeness, however, gave Kore a chance to look at the detail of Plouton's beautiful robes, so it was quite all right. He found himself disappointed, however, with the dim underground light. Those robes were made for sunlight, which was an oddity, for the God of the Underworld wore them.

"Dress now," Hades said, bringing Kore back to the reality of his nakedness. "I will have a mount ready in a moment, if you will permit me, so that I may show you more of my realm."

The horse that Hades brought once Kore was dressed was not, in essence, a horse. It was an amalgam of bone and black muscle, ghastly gaunt and fitted with a silk girdle. It snorted softly like horses did, but Kore knew better. 

"He is healthy and strong, and kind to strangers. I give my word that he will not harm you."

Once more, Kore found himself believing Plouton's word. He would trust the horse-being not to let him fall. His gifted robes, colored dark like the walls, whispered against his skin like water with each step Kore took toward their mount.

He's never ridden a horse before, he admitted to Plouton. So the Olympian helped Kore onto the beast, which shivered a little with the new weight, but did nothing more. Kore pet the fur on his neck for that.

But there had been no warning for Hades' mounting of the horse-being along with him. The mount only ruffled its fur a little, while Kore jumped at the contact with Hades' front. Where they to ride like this around the Real Palace? Kore's cheeks reddened. 

The day would be long.

____________________________________  
 

  
On the surface of Gaia's Earth, Demeter wreaked havoc on the land. Nothing was growing, and new seeds were beginning to perish with the chill that was setting into the land. 

Perse worried fretfully. Initially, the nymphs thought to wait by the shore of the rivers — a week — in the event that Kore appeared safe and without injury while Demeter searched in every place she could think of. But then the week turned into two, then three, and Demeter's work turned gray. It withered. And so Perse took matters into her own hands. 

She swam down the rivers to reach the sea at midday, a long journey from where the mountain sat, and called for Apollo. She took the wooden whistle that she always kept on her person and blew it, a pitch no earthly being could hear ringing to the skies, and waited.

A beam of light soon spilled down from the clouds near her, fire dripping from Atlas' sky into the coast line in a flare. It was quick as lightning over the burning sand, rushing straight towards her in an instant. Light came from his body and kindly warmed her arms and face, causing no harm. His musical voice greeted Perse as one would do an old, dear friend.

"Hail, Perse, nymph born of the Ocean and wife of my dear friend Helios! To what do I owe your beckoning?"

"It is the land, Apollo," she cried with anguish in her spirit. "It withers with the passing days. Demeter is stricken with grief and I fear for her. I ask of you, have my husband see me at my sisters' rivers, I wish for his aid."

"Aye, I shall relay your wishes, but he can only come at night, you know this."

Perse smiled at his friend, whose light shined red, red with worry. "I can wait, Apollo. Give your sister blessings from me."

Apollo gave her a grin, no doubt he will run over the clouds to her and tell of Perse's blessings right that minute. "I will," and off he went, towards the skies again, leaving Perse to return swiftly to her riverbed. 

On Perse's return, many hours later, she found Demeter, haggard and pale, rounding the riverbed restlessly in circles. The water nymph called for her, brought her near the riverbed to sit and rest, and told her of Helios' coming today, for surely the Sun had seen what happened to Kore.

"Oh, Perse." Demeter's eyes watered with heartfelt emotion, and she hugged her friend close. "Perse, thank you, it did not occur to me to ask Helios for his sight..."

"Dem, no thanks are necessary." She pressed Demeter close and wiped a tear from her cheeks. "You are suffering, I only wish to help."

"I thank you still, my friend."

Soon after, the Sun set on the horizon, night-stars combing the sky in splendor. A small light shone from the distance, approaching the two women steadily. Out from the sky came Helios, the fire-light of his halo lighting the night around them as day would. Titan, though he is, he glistened strong like a hearth, skin colored amber and glassy to their eyes. He saw his wife seated by the water and greeted her warmly, his fire, too, not ever harming her.

"Come, Helios," Perse said. "I've missed you verily in the past months, sit with me."

Strange was their union, of the ocean and the Sun, but love shone bright in his eyes for her, as bright as he did for all the Earth. He sat as she wished, and from the light of his body, illuminated the rock bed of the river. Little trails of steam rose from where his legs touched the water, for he was hot to the touch still from lighting the sky all day.

Perse continued, "Surely you know why we have called for you here, dear Helios, and we pray for answers."

"I do, and I did not come sooner to tell you for I was prohibited." This shocked the two women, and Demeter, especially, urged him why. "Zeus told me I could not come to tell you. Though, he did not say that you could come to me and that I could not tell you then." He quirked a sly little grin, though he was apologetic.

"Zeus?" Demeter's eyes hardened. "What has Zeus done?"

Helios offered her a heartfelt apology. "I cannot say either, but Zeus has no spell upon himself where he cannot speak of his dealings." A wisp of fire burned ardently from his gold hair, which Perse recognized as mischief. "And I think I will enjoy your rage, though I beg you forgiveness Demeter. Truly, I only think he deserves it."

Demeter thought the same. For if Zeus had a hand in her child's disappearance, he would pay gravely.

____________________________________

  
During the weeks that came to pass, where Demeter's ruin grew terribly, Kore spent no time worrying on things of the surface. He thought frequently of his mother, and at times felt concern for her too, for she would be devastated by his absence. But he never had much time to linger on those thoughts. 

Time moved strangely in the Hades. There was no Sun to tell the hour, no life to tell him how many days have gone, so naturally Kore thought, it has not been that very long since he has been underground. Surely it must only have been a few days, a week at most. He would return soon to the surface and find his mother, teary and distraught, but certainly nothing grave occurring beside restless days awaiting his return.

During the spring god's waking hours, Hades would come to offer another tour. He has seen wider spaces and farther rooms, each filled with wall carvings and paintings. All still far from any living - or rather unliving - soul. He'd found a game unlike any other in one of them, a glass maze the size of his palm, in the shape of a box, where he must twist a round ball to a certain spot to win. 

"You may keep it, if it interests you," Hades had told him. "It is one of Hermes' games and I have long grown tired of it."

Kore kept it for much time. Even after solving it, he liked to play it again, twist the round stone into different corners. It was much like the pebbles he would toss into the river, when the stone hit the glass and made a pinging sound. 

One day, much farther into his stay and after seeing most of the Palace twice — for he was given permission to roam certain halls —, he asked Hades for things Kore began to wonder about daily. 

"Do you go to the surface often?"

Hades would always glance at the spring youth without moving his head much, concentrated on other things. "No, it is not a fancy I delve in much."

"Then, the two times we've met above are the only times you've gone in recent times?"

"Quite."

Kore gaped at his host. "None in between? But years had passed!"

"As I said, it is not a fancy I delve in much."

This, most of all, what very strange for Kore. He was not a creature of the dark, like Hades. This was true. But so much time spent far from sunlight seemed unfathomable. Years! Years without the warmth of Helios' circuit, years without seeing a harvest! Truly Hades was made of different things.

Thinking of the sunlight gave Kore a pang of melancholy. He missed the Sun, the grass and the trees.

Not fearful any longer, he voiced these thoughts to his company. "It has been some time since I've seen the surface, Hades. Would it be terrible if we were to go for a walk?"

For the first time, Hades weighed the idea. Kore was becoming very morose as the days passed, like a flower withering on dry soil. If all it took was some surface light to cheer him up, he might grant the wish. He did not want Kore to be discouraged with his stay. 

"I will consider it. Perhaps tomorrow, when we go by the Styx's waters."

The Styx! Oh, somewhere new! The prospect sounded exciting! The young god wondered whether the river would be the similar to the Palace, if it will be lifeless with an unearthly beauty, or if something grew from its waters.

Kore smiled radiantly. "Sounds wonderful."


	5. The River Styx

In the same night Kore waited anxiously for the next day's travel to the River, Demeter climbed to the summit of the mountain, where she knew the Olympus gods dwelled merrily. She went to the throne rooms to confront Zeus with what family talk meant these days. That is, with quite a lot of yelling, and if Hera was not the one demanding retribution, she would be the one to calm the waves of rage of whoever came to do so on her troublesome husband.

"Zeus!" echoed the words of the Harvest goddess. Through all the halls her voice could be heard, and any who was not Zeus feared to stand in her way. One Hermes could be seen following Demeter's path with vexation. Many knew that Hermes, the mischief maker, enjoyed when people came into Olympus screaming blackfire down their promiscuous leader's throat. But to see Demeter, the most peaceful of all the gods of Olympus, be the one to do so this time? Oh, this must be grave. 

She tread into the throne rooms not long after, and with hard-set eyes spotted Zeus sitting the banquet table, eating. _"What have you done to Kore?"_ she screamed, approaching the god with fire in her blood.

Her loud, resounding voice alerted Hera, and her face twisted with trepidation. Oh, foolish husband of mine, she thought, what have you done this time? 

Zeus, of course, knew well what would bring Demeter to the summit of Olympus in such a fit, and so steadied his shoulders for the blows to come. He was not looking forward to his sister's blind rage.

Still, body and mind often did not agree within Zeus, and so in a gracious, careless tone he said, "What a pleasantry it is to see you too, sister of mine."

Demeter ignored his chatter, prowling towards the Olympian with a hissing voice. "My child is _missing_ , and I _know_ you are responsible."

Her hands, stiffened by her inner turmoil, clutched Zeus by the arm with a grip as strong as ten oxen. She had done this many times in their long-ago youth when Zeus had done something so irrevocably stupid, often because of Poseidon's taunting. _"Tell me_ where he is, and I will be kind."

The lighting-bearer shook his head, not to deny Demeter's query, but for Hera to know that her intervention was unneeded. She had steadily approached the feast table on silent steps, prepared should her aid be necessary.

He would shoulder the blame, though not all of it. 

"I am only responsible for planting a flower, Demeter, one that was woven into the ground so deeply, it would reach the Hades when it was pulled."

Demeter startled at his words. "The Hades?" 

Her distress was evident, so much so that all her fury fled from her, dread setting into her bones in its place. She felt heavy and cold like ice. Hollow.

Zeus saw this and apologized. 

"But, what would Hades want with Kore?" The goddess wondered aloud. Hades had never any interest in the world above his realm, even less so for its inhabitants. The harvest-giver had not even seen him since...since before Kore had come to be.

"I do not know why, I only know he wished it."

Let it be known that, for all of Zeus' omniscience, he was caught unawares when Demeter struck him in the face — square and true — with such force he fell against the stone feast table and cracked it. 

Her divine rage enshrouded her once more, face twisting with guarded wrath for Zeus' careless actions.

"And you thought no further on it? Be warned, brother, that this is only a _fraction_ of what I would do to you. You are not exempt of punishment. You planted that flower. You let my child -  _our_ child be taken."

"Fair it be," the trounced god said with trouble, face quite sore. Demeter's blows had not grown soft in years passed. "Kore is more your child than mine. But what will you do? It is not as if you can walk into our brother's realm. Not without his permission. None of us can."

Her will hardened with the cold that was starting to take root in her heart.

"He won't be able to ignore me forever."

She left the shining halls of Olympus then, a foul wind creeping up the summit in her absence.

 

____________________________________

 

  
As the sun rose on the new day, Kore woke in the darkness that has become familiar, deep within the caverns of the Hades. He curled in the blankets which he swiped from other rooms, each stitched with winding patterns, all charmingly soft to the touch. Sleeping on the couch was no longer a problem, though the young god supposed he should have told Hades about the hardness of the woolen thing. 

"Good tidings, guest of mine," called in welcome the Titan-born, the soft clopping of hooves not far behind him. 

After Kore dressed excitedly for today's travels in the Underworld, they rode together through a windy hallway, one Kore did not recognize. He's gotten quite used to riding along with Hades, and so settled comfortably against his host.

He could almost hear his mother's voice whispering in his ear, _"Careful with where you plant your affections, dear, for if you water them, they might grow into a great Cypress."_

Kore did not know whether he should heed the warning or laugh at its irony, for Hades' own sacred bloom was a cypress. A mourning tree, ever reaching high for Atlas' sky and near impossible to uproot.

The makeshift steed clopped down the corridor, down a slopping hall over to the sound of rushing water. They followed the sound still, farther into the cavern. The walls turned rougher. The path, uneven. Wet rock soon met their sight, and before Kore even realized, they were marching along the bed of a great river. 

He gaped at the black stream, blacker than the obsidian stone of the Palace's floors. Unlike the rocks that shimmered yellow against the light of the torches illuminating their path, the Styx swallowed the light into itself, leaving nothing but a sliver of gray here and there, where it should mirror the walls. 

It was wider than the grandest hall, and who knew how deep. 

Hades took them farther upstream, towards a lonely boat. Anchored to a simple dock, a shadow of a man rose from the boat to welcome them.

"Greetings, Lord of the Realm, and to you," he spoke softly, offering a hand for Kore to take, "Little guest."

"'Little' guest?" Kore asked, taking the hand only after Hades nodded it well. "I don't quite think myself 'little'."

The dark-robbed oarsman had about himself a gentle manner. His words floated in the air like a whisper come from a high mountain, timid but vibrant in tone. He was very kind, helping Kore and Hades into the boat as it shook under new weight, and sure of strength. His name was Charon, and he told Kore of his reasons.

"All beings of this land below and above I call young and small. For I am son of the Night and the Shadows, and I have seen this world take its first breath in Gaea's hands."

The ferryman oared silently across the river, wider now than ever. He told of the souls who passed his waters from the river Acheron into the Styx. Of the curious, the frightened and the brave. They need not fear, assured Charon, for in the Hades, they would live perhaps not happily, but contently, for the rest of their afterlives. 

"How long is the river?" Kore asked, for he was curious. The Styx seemed to extend endlessly. It was quite fascinating.

Hades answered, "It curls around all of my realm, and separates it from the Outside. In the marshes, it is joined by the five rivers of this land. None can cross it without Charon's oars."

Charon nodded agreement. It was his duty, one which he took solemnly. The marshes soon came into view, where the ground turned into sand and a larger, but still simple, dock could be seen. Kore could make out strange pillars leading from the dock into the True realm of Hades, where the souls would wander into their rightful places. 

"What are those pillars, Plouton?"

"They are not pillars," he said, "But cypress trees. The dead find comfort in them. It is the only living thing here among them which is familiar."

 Kore once again heard the whisper of his mother's advice. He thought, however, that a few drops of water would do no harm, and grew bold.

"Is it all right if we went to the Acheron?"

Kore looked to Hades with hope plain in his eyes. He's been patient in his stay, and perhaps in return, he could show Hades the pleasant things of the earth above, as the old god had done with his. 

Hades had already decided the visit would do Kore good, and so met the wish with a commanding voice.

"Charon, take us to the Crossroads, our guest Kore wishes to see the surface."

"Of course, my Lord," the humble servant obliged and changed course.

As the boat entered the Acheron, excitement blossomed in Kore's heart. Soon, he would feel the Sun upon his skin, the grass under his feet! 

He could see there was light coming from ahead, illuminating their path further. They neared an empty shore, one with no dock but a hook in the sand with which to anchor the ferryboat. Charon did so, and soon the two Olympians departed with the oarsman.

"No souls await passage yet," Charon said before they parted ways. "But if I am not here when you return, be at peace. I will return." 

Kore thanked him for the ferry, and wondered what would happen once they returned and boarded the ferry again. He's crossed the Styx and no longer stood in the Hades. Should he cross the river again, might he be truly trapped in the Realm of the Dead?

The spring god dared not think too long on it, lest he find himself regretting his desire to return to the Palace. The place wasn't terrible, really. Much too dark for his tastes, but he was growing fond of its queer company. 

"Come," Hades called, gesturing towards the natural stone steps that lead to the cave mouth. "Your Sun awaits." 

Kore beamed and began the ascent. Hades supported him on the weaker steps, though many they were not. The steps were study under their combined weight, and it proved to be a short climb, one that opened to a world of white.

White, not green.

Kore peeked just outside of the cave mouth, where there must have surely been a pasture. A strange, sparkling layer of brittle-white blanketed the land all around.

He was rather confused. 

"What is this, Plouton?" He touched the brittle-white that cracked under his naked toes, and jumped back into the stone ground. It was cold! And now that he paid close attention, the wind was very chilly, and his breath misted the air with every breath released.

The older god too was surprised with what they've met of nature, but the sight was not a novelty for him. Once, an age ago, at a time when he had been much closer to his brothers, they had thought to explore the distant north together and had encountered the same landscape. 

"I believe it is called snow."

Snow, is it? Well, whatever it was called, Kore has never stumbled upon it in his life. He dared to step again onto the white-stuff, prepared for the small bite of ice, and asked, "Is it always so cold, this—snow?"

"Yes, I believe." 

Exploring the pastures felt very peculiar. Kore could feel there was grass sleeping underneath, but could not nurture it. All green things fled from the bite of the brittle-white. Even Helios' light felt weaker over his skin. Discouraged, for Kore could not show Hades the wonderful things of the surface any longer, he spun around to ask forgiveness—

—and found a brave little bloom hidden under the alcove of a tree. 

The spring-bearer brightened and quickly he headed towards it. 

Hades had watched impassively, equally disappointed and puzzled with the turn of events. Kore seemed saddened with what became of the land, which sparked anger in the Titan-born. Anger towards the frivolous nature of the weather. He did not want for his guest's displeasure to increase because of it. 

But then, oddly enough, the young god sprang into movement and suddenly, he dreaded that Kore would flee into the cold pastures and disappear into the cover of trees. 

His fear would be unfounded, for no sooner than Kore burst into a run did he stop at a nearby tree and shouted for Hades to come see. 

"Look!" Once Hades was close enough, he cradled the plant in his hands with care and showed it to his company.

"It is ivy. Still green, though the snow is clinging to its corners. I think the white-flake makes it look beautiful, though."

Hades agreed, despite finding the plant quite ordinary. Kore loved all sort of green life, no matter its appearance. The spring-youth was content, smiling with cheer, rosy faced against the cold. He would not dissuade the youth's joy by calling it commonplace. 

"I admit, this snow isn't so bad," Kore said jovially from his crouch as he petted the leaves warm. "It breaks easily, and it does paint the landscape prettily. I suppose I don't belong to it is all." The spring god could feel the snow slowly killing the flowers and the leaves, and quietly thought he won't ever belong to this new land.

A soft touch at the top of his head urged him to look up. Hades held out a hand for his taking, and helped him stand. Abruptly, Kore's chin was held aloft for his gaze to land on Plouton's own.

"You may think this snow unfit for yourself," he said with utmost seriousness, "But what more fitting world for you to nurture is there? You who mourn for the bluebells and poppies as much as you would a dear friend? A healer does not treat the healthy. The same must be for you. Are you not 'spring-bearer'?"

"Of course I am." Kore felt quite flustered, unused to such attention. He tried to lower his gaze, but met resistance. "But the plants are not reviving," Kore added with a small stutter, "Nor will they effortlessly. They continue to wither. Does that not make me instead...a winter-bringer?"

The hold on his chin softened, Hades own hand falling back to his side. 

"Then 'Kore' would no longer be a fitting name for you, would it? Would you prefer Persephone, the death-bringer?"

Kore visibly recoiled at the words. Death-bringer? His face heated in embarrassment and indignation. It was the elder Olympian's fault why the nature was dying anyhow! Taking him into the underworld and keeping him there. Frustrated to the point of silence, Kore rounded the tree to face it instead of his keeper. 

Hades, however, had not meant insult. He thought the name a flattery, actually, but quickly revised his assumption once the young god reddened in what seemed like fury and turned away from him. Kore, who did not share in his passion or pride for dead things, must have misinterpreted his praise for offense. 

"Kore." Kore did not pay him attention. The young god was trying mightily to bore a hole into the tree-trunk with the force of his glare. Hades thought to turn him around himself, but deemed it unwise. He might make Kore angrier, which was the opposite of what he was trying to do.

"Kore," he insisted gently, "Look to me." 

The resentful godling shot him a watery glare, and offered nothing else. 

Hades shifted on tense limbs. "I am...sorry," he began inelegantly, for they were not words he used often, and had not used honestly in many ages. "I meant no offense. Truly. Forgive my careless words." 

Kore bristled with the cold and rubbed his face free of the frustrating tears blurring his vision. "So you thought calling me 'death-bringer' a compliment?" he snapped, and, hearing himself speak, widened his eyes in understanding. "Oh."

Why of course the death-god believed his words to be inoffensive. He _was_ a death-bringer, or rather a death-keeper. Kore felt foolish for his behavior now, and awkwardly lowered his head. He let the unspoken apology drift between them.

Little wisps of brittle-white began to fall from the clouds. Some clumped together in Hades' shoulders, which annoyed him greatly. 

It brought a small smile to Kore's lips, and broke the stale air between them.

"It is not a horrible name, actually. Persephone," Kore tested the word. It had a sonorous ring, pleasant to the ears. It appealed to him, though its meaning was far too ominous, too unmerciful. Kore feared it, for Apollo had once told him over the drinking pools of the Olympus that names carried power and prophecy behind them.

"Have you ever wondered," the sun-kissed Olympian had confided in him that day, "Why your mother holds such great will over the fruits of the ground, over the plants that sprout forth from tended soil? It is because she is Earth-Mother, _Demeter,_ and it is her namesake. Fate with us gods is always that simple, Kore. It is why I am both destroyer by plague and fire. It is why my sister Artemis is a skilled huntress, and a spouseless maiden. Be wary of names, young harvester. They carry the weight of a soul." 

Kore hesitated, but in the end, dared to shoulder that weight.

"If you would allow me, I would take it. That title." 

Hades regarded the young god with surprise. "Truly?"

He smiled, face burned pink by the bite of the cold snow breeze. "I hardly think the Lord of the Dead praises many people. It would be my honor."

He was granted permission from a moderately bewildered Hades, gray sunlight glistening in his beautiful shroud. The light, weak as it was, crowned the Titan-born's unruly dark locks in a brilliant halo and Kore, belatedly, wondered if he had been blessed, granted favor by this enchanting, and truly perplexing, god of the realm underneath them.

Hades, unaware of his company's fond thoughs, offered Kore-Persephone guidance toward the cave mouth. "The day grows colder, and my home provides well-needed warmth. Come." 

The godling tread quickly into the shelter of the cave, and upon reaching the first steps, thought of his mother. Of how the land succumbed to the cold and if he should return to her at this time of need, for surely this slow-death of nature must be caused by his mother's neglect of the land. And his mother never neglected the earth. Not for anything.

This might well be Kore's fault, indirectly. He knew that his absence must be at the root of this. 'Persephone' sounded more and more appropriate with the passing seconds.

For a long, crucial moment, spring-bearer and winter-giver warred within him.

A hand laid in front of him, Hades' hand, neither urging nor judging of Kore's struggle.

Persephone took it. 

He has more to learn, he told himself, of the people below the surface. Of the world underground.

And there was yet the enigma of its Lord who did not quite understand how surface people worked.


End file.
